


Arabesque

by Eve_LaBlanche



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Ballet, Damsels in Distress, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eve_LaBlanche/pseuds/Eve_LaBlanche
Summary: Shy and wanting to prove herself, Olivia wandered away during the nighttime hours to practice her routine. Her perfect evening was interrupted suddenly as a Risen soldier attacked her. Only by luck was a valiant comrade, Chrom, awake to swoop in and save her—to her embarrassment. Her encounter strangely developed a connection with Chrom, something that she had deemed impossible from day one.





	1. Death's Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads up!** This work will contain the following:
> 
> -Mild depictions of violence  
> -Plot spoilers (takes place post-chapter 11)
> 
> If you do not feel comfortable reading such material, I recommend not reading this work!
> 
> This chapter contains the following:
> 
> -Mild depictions of violence  
> -Plot spoilers
> 
> You will be warned at the beginning of each chapter for the themes listed above. Please note that the rating may change following chapter updates!

Finally, peace. No more fighting or clashing of metal. No more ancient mantras unleashing hexes and infernos. No more screaming from the wounded and dying. Just the serene flow of nature, the hum of crickets and whispers of streams surrounding her. Olivia's feet burned in her shoes from all the walking throughout the afternoon. The tendons in her legs felt like strained rubber as she lay down on the grass. It had rained the night before and the grass was a brilliant, nourished green. _Beautiful,_ she thought. The grass and soil would make a for a lovely stage, the radiant moon her spotlight. The forest here felt virgin, untouched by man. The only trace of civilization was the faint light from her camp half a kilometer away. She felt like this spot was made just for her. She got up to her feet and stretched her elastic limbs to the sky, kicking off her shoes. The damp grass tickled the bottom of her feet.  
  
Being a Shepherd was not an easy task. It was only her third day as a Shepherd and she quickly became appreciative of how hard her comrades worked. She was always exhausted and no matter how much water she had, her thirst seemed unquenchable. She wasn't the most adept swordsman, so she wasn't constantly fighting for her life. For the most part, she danced to raise the morale of her comrades, but even then she wasn't perfect. She'd stumble, trip, and misstep constantly. That led her here, to an open field away from camp. She needed practice and here was the perfect chance, even if she was incredibly fatigued.  
  
Everyone else was asleep in their tents. Olivia kept herself awake just for this. She would practice before, but her pastel pink braids and sparkle-garnished clothing would draw too much attention to her. The last thing she wanted was this group of acquaintances to put their eyes all on her. When she was on a stage, she performed for a crowd and received praise. Even if she made a mistake, her audience would be gone—her embarrassment would be gone the next day. Now as a part of a group, these faces would bear the same judgment with each passing day.  
  
It was never her intention to attract spectators to her art. Dance was merely a hobby as a young child; she attended ballet schools since she could walk. As she grew older, she turned to dance whenever life gave her a bad hand. Or even when it didn't. Dance was her catharsis. Instead of turning to a possibly disloyal friend or judgmental member of her family, she moved her body. Be it contemporary dance, tap, traditional ethnic dances, or ballet (her favorite,) it took the raw emotions she felt and converted them into physical energy. Thanks to the passion linked to the art, Olivia honed her skills quickly from behind closed doors and drawn blinds. Her talent needed no praise. If anything, the praise did nothing but fluster and distract her.  
  
_No people here..._ she reminded herself. _...So here goes._ She opened up with a quick twirl and seamlessly leaped into the sky. Everything was perfect. The crickets chirping were her metronome. _One, two, three; one, two, three_. She heard a waltz-like beat throughout the crickets' chaos. The rhythm set her body into motion, taking swift yet assiduous steps left and right. The wind caught in scarf attached at her wrists and flapped behind her eloquently. She typically loathed the ensemble she was required to wear. It was bold and obscene for her taste but her manager insisted that such an outfit would attract bigger crowds and more money. With no one watching, however, she was free from the noticeable stares and catcalls and it allowed her to appreciate the beauty in such an outfit. The silk and jewelry trailed behind her movements like ribbons.  
  
She jumped into a _grand jeté,_ bringing her legs up effortlessly into a split and landing back onto the ground without a sound. She smiled. Her anxiety had evaporated into the evening air. The opportunity was a blessing. _Thank the gods above for granting me this...small salvation,_ Olivia thought, pivoting and twirling on her right foot. Praise them for a beautiful night. She danced for several minutes in a fluid, unbroken chain of leaping and spinning. She performed such actions like any other person would breathe or blink—barely giving it any attention. One motion led to another and her dance felt like it would never end.  
  
Olivia imagined how perfect the evening would be if she had a partner. She didn't mean for a romantic or sexual relationship, just a pair of eager dancers moving as one under the moonlight. As sensual as that may sound, Olivia thought of it strictly as professional. Through her years as a performer, she never danced with a partner. She feared that she may not like the partner she was given. That and she feared to disappoint them, too. She envied people that could get along with others so easily. Like Basilio. While not exactly being the most approachable person, he was never too timid to make an acquaintance. Frederick had a similar approach, with chivalry and respect balancing out his strictness and rough edges.  
  
But no...it wasn't that sort of person with whom she wished to be partners. She needed an intrepid partner, but with that, she needed somebody who was motivated, who was raw and intimate, who was a romantic and emotional in the core. Immediately, Chrom popped into her mind. The leader of the party, Chrom could lift anybody's spirits in a heartbeat. His pre-battle rallies always had everyone in a positive state-of-mind. She eavesdropped on many quarrels with Robin, the Tactician, about strategies. He always made decisions with his heart, risking his own life time after time to spare just one more civilian life. It showed Olivia how compassionate he was.  
  
Olivia felt her knee buckling beneath her. She was in the _arabesque_ position, with her right leg extended behind her at a right angle and her spine arched so she could look straight ahead. It was not that difficult with a flat foot, but up on her toes without shoes was beyond difficult. She tightened her quads desperately to hold herself up, but quickly toppled forward, landing in the grass face-first. "Again..." she mumbled. She was caught up in that ideal dance partner that she had worked her way through and entire routine without even thinking. But that damned pose she was doing was always where she screwed up. It wasn't even particularly hard, but whenever she stopped focusing, even for a second, she fell.  
  
Upon standing, everything felt different. The crickets' melody wasn't precise anymore and their tune was beginning to die out. In only a couple of seconds, the entire area had fallen into an eerie silence and it felt like a song that ended abruptly halfway through. The breeze that once kissed her shoulders transformed into a biting gale. Though it sent chills down her spine and gave her goosebumps, she felt herself perspiring at the same time. She hated it when she perspired—it was unladylike. If someone were to notice, it would be utterly humiliating. Why did it matter if she was all alone? There was a latent premonition that somebody was around that could see her perspire, but who?  
  
Oh no.  
  
As the epiphany struck her like a knife in the back, she transformed from a flawless performer under a radiant spotlight to a terrified deer paralyzed by a blinding set of headlights.  
  
Olivia could see their scornful, scarlet eyes like pools of lava seeping into their skin, only a drop from overflowing. Their languid, indigo skin was corroded by a baleful sorcery, melting off of the bodies to which it belonged. Their attire was worn thanks to ceaseless and strenuous battles. Blood stained their skin and their tattered garb. The foul odor they produced was of rotting corpses and sulfur, potent enough to make a victim's head spin. The very worst of it was their voice. Their battle cries and sadistic laughs sounded a cross between a banshee's wail and the pounding of a blacksmith's hammer.  
  
Risen.  
  
A menacing moan pierced through the silent night and impaled Olivia's ears. The echoing distorted the noise and made it come from all directions at once. She could not identify where the sound originated. _This was a horrible mistake!_ she thought. _This serves as punishment for letting temptation get the best of me!_  
  
Another blood-curdling cry filled the night sky. Taking her by surprise, she gasped and covered her ears with her palms. _The camp._ All she needed to do was get to the camp and her life would no longer be at risk. While the dishonor and inconvenience from would ensue from venturing far from camp unarmed and bringing an angry cult of Risen behind her, none of that would kill her.  
  
Stiffly and timidly, Olivia forced her almost-paralytic body eastward toward the camp. The journey back was nearly unnavigable in the dark, but at least it was a road. From there she began a desperate sprint. Adrenaline forced her legs to propel her faster down the impromptu route. She hadn't run faster in her entire life. The screams were increasing in volume and consistency and she hoped that the sounds were just figments of her imagination. Maybe this was all just some dastardly nightmare that Tharja had planted into her brain.  
  
"Nyaagh...!"  
  
Reality felt inclined to remind her rather bluntly that she was not dreaming at all. Her sprint came to an abrupt halt while a large Risen soldier emerged from the shadows in a pounce. Her petite, dancer's form was no match for the creature's brawny form and she came crashing onto the forest floor. A penetrating scream left her body as the monster's wrists shackled her to the ground.  
  
"Ah! Let go!" she hissed. She tried to contort her eyes into a face of courage and ferocity, but her mask crumbled when the beast's eyes siphoned her soul. The forlorn Risen fought for no reason other than the dark magic that polluted its veins. He was a puppet in his own skin, lacking all purpose except to pillage and murder any human in sight. It was as unfortunate as it was terrorizing. "You damned beast! _Help!_ " she cried into the night as loud as her lungs would allow. She squirmed and writhed and thrashed, but the monster was an unyielding force. It reached back with its dominant hand as the other used enough force to still keep Olivia restrained. It revealed an obsidian colored battle axe and held it triumphantly in the air. The weapon concealed the moonlight and cast a dark, daunting shadow over her face.  
  
Her heart sank. This couldn't be her end, no honor to it, nor emotion. Not even a witness. The party would wake and stumble upon her disfigured face. She needed a sword. Though her swordplay was unremarkable, she could at least die knowing she put up a fight. Without one, she closed her eyes tight and braced for the fatal blow. "Someone help! No!"  
  
Thankfully, Lady Luck wandered the camp that night. The sounds of tranquil breathing and occasional snoring filled all but one of the tents. Chrom was awake, determining their travel plans for the next day and writing in his journal for the evening. Normally, he wouldn't linger awake at such a late hour, but since Robin fell slightly ill that evening, he fulfilled his duties. He wasn't the most strategic commander, but he was best suited for the job over the others. He would check in with the tactician in the morning. His journal entry was irregularly short, for there were no remarkable details throughout the day.  
  
Fate had an amusing way of always bringing some form of balance. When a scale is tipped too far in either direction, fate corrects such a disruption. For example, the last few days had been irregularly ordinary following the tragic death of his sister. And after this uneventful day came a monumental midnight hour. Through the soundless eve, an insufferable cry shot rang throughout the forest, like a twenty-pound rock being hurled at a dainty stained-glass window. His gallant instinct leapt into action. Precious seconds could not be wasted with dressing properly for combat when somebody was in danger. Simply, he reached for his beloved sword and stormed off into the night. Though clothed only in his sleeveless, navy undershirt and tightly fitted sleeping trousers, he galloped head-first into danger like a knight on his trusty steed.  
  
Not terribly far from the camp, he spotted the two belligerents tussling on the ground. Chrom recognized the victim in a matter of seconds. Her pastel pink hair and the ornate outfit were too unique to be mistaken for anyone other than Olivia. His mind was teeming with questions, but the axe raised above Olivia's groveling body took priority. "Hold on! I'm coming!" His sword pointed straight ahead, he dashed straight for the monster. His battle cry had distracted it from severing Olivia's head off.  
  
"Take this!" Without pretentious battle moves nor ostentatious flips in the air, he brought the blade down merciless onto the Risen's head. After an ugly, bloody groan, the lifeless puppet fell back down to Olivia's feet. The open wound in the fractured did not bleed or rot. The noxious purple insides vaporized open contact with the open air. The clouds of violet dust wafted in the night sky.  
  
Astounded but relieved, Olivia's eyes, enlarged to the size of quarters, fell upon her hero, the commander of the Shepherds, the prince, the reason her face didn't look like a cutting board.  
  
"Chrom..." she whispered. During the attack, her soul felt so heavy, like the hands of death itself were grasping her ankles and threatening to yank her down to the Underworld. Just one glance into Chrom's regal, exalted eyes and her spirit ascended into the sky, weightless. How she wanted to embrace him warmly and thank him time and time again for his selfless and impeccably timed gesture, but such a reaction seemed quite inappropriate. "I..."  
  
Chrom put his blade back over his shoulder. "Are you hurt?" he asked. He reached out for her dainty, uncalloused hands. A quick look at the back of them and he could see that they were red, raw from being held against the rugged forest floor. Bruises in the shape of fingers being coiled around marred her forearms. The bluish color resembled his hair. Such minor injuries looked intolerable on such unscathed skin. She was too ethereal to be battered such a way.  
  
"J-just my dignity, really. It's nothing." She grinned trepidly. "Milord...I deeply apologize for causing such an in—"  
  
"No need, my friend. What matters is that you are out of harm's way. For now, let us return to base." In her already shaken state, he would hate to worry her anymore until she was safe in her tent. "Have you spotted any other Risen?"  
  
"Delighted to say that I haven't."  
  
Chrom hoisted her to her feet, allowing her to dust herself off. She coyly glanced up at the commander, chagrined to see him in such minimal clothing. "But I advise you keep your eyes out for any others."  
  
"Right you are, Milord."  
  
"We shall head back to camp and we'll converse in my tent."  
  
The two walked silently. Olivia, instead of watching the surroundings, pondered what Chrom was feeling. Though he said an apology wasn't needed, she couldn't help but wonder if he was frustrated or angry or even disappointed. So compassionate was he that he likely disguised his negativity to maintain face and morale. It was best for her not to dwell on it; she found herself wondering why such trivial information was given such thought.  
  
Olivia followed the prince back to his tent. To her surprise, his quarters were as modest as her own, the ones her fellow Shepards arranged for her. Chrom took a seat on the blanket with his legs crossed. "Close quarters, I'm afraid," he said, patting the ground beside him. He would never wish the pain of a graphic death upon anyone, but he looked at this opportunity optimistically. Saving her life was perhaps one way to pry open the shy young woman.  
  
"I don't believe I've said this just yet...but you have my thanks, Sir Chrom..." Olivia genuflected briefly with her head hung but didn't seat herself next to the prince. "Had you not heard me, wh-who knows what would become of me..." She glanced up and make a brief eye contact before a warm blush ran over the bridge of her nose. "I...wish not to...further interrupt your evening, Milord, so I best be o-on my way—"  
  
"By gods! Your hand!" ejaculated Chrom suddenly. What once was just irritated skin had transformed into a shallow but fairly long gash across the back of her hand, bleeding profusely. He clasped her fingertips to get a better look at the injury. "You mustn't run off to sleep without dressing this wound properly. Have a seat, I'll get a basin of water and some bandages—"  
  
"No!" she exclaimed, retracting her hand as if she had touched a hot stove. "I...I mean you have already done so much for me, S-sir Chrom, I can take care of it myself."  
  
"Nonsense, Olivia. It's no trouble at all. The basin is just to my right and I'm sure I'll find some bandages, just hold tight while I find them."  
  
She began to speak out in protest again but realized it would be easier to stay than argue for a reason to leave. She tremulously seated herself in the spot he motioned to. After rummaging through a few cloth bags, Chrom found a clean roll of bandages. He set the roll and bucket of water down between the both of them. "Let me see your hand," said Chrom, reaching out to her. Very hesitantly, Olivia obeyed. Her hand felt miniature enveloped in his. The sensation of body heat that his palms alone provided revived the blush from seconds earlier. "This may sting a little," he said downheartedly, wishing never to inflict even the slightest of pain on a fellow comrade. Especially her.  
  
He submerged her hand beneath the cool water. Olivia bit her bottom lip, using her strength not to whimper while the fluid rinsed her open flesh. Their familiar awkward silence set in. Whenever Chrom approached Olivia for any reason, she would always end up paralyzed by bashfulness or fretfully skittish. In fact, Chrom believed that this was the longest time the two had spent together without Olivia getting so nervous that she ran off. She almost slipped through his fingers again had he not noticed her injury. He only wished to grow a stronger bond with her and strengthen the unit as a whole. She reminded him of Lon'qu, but in a much more feminine and alluring way.

  
"Now that we are here...and you're safe, can we talk about what happened?"  
  
"I-I um..." She glanced up again. Chrom was staring at her as he washed her hand. It may have been her imagination, but he was practically fixating his eyes on her body. Her risqué attire surely captured his attention. Her navel was completely exposed and her breasts were showcased by her chiffon blouse. On her lower half was more loose and semi-lucid fabric, allowing for others to easily see her underwear. It did not surprise her that someone could be staring. Nonetheless, a scarlet blush eclipsed her cheeks. Of course, she would be embarrassed if her commander, attractive and charming, let his eyes wander to her. She wouldn't bring it up. That would only prompt and even more awkward conversation.  
  
"Olivia?"  
  
"H-huh?"  
  
"Are you sick? Did that monster infect you with anything?"  
  
Olivia's eyes widened. "I don't believe so...why? Is something wrong?"  
  
He gazed at her gravely. "You began speaking and stopped...gods, you're flushed! Are you feeling alright? Shall I get you a damp cloth to place on your forehead?" He reached out to Olivia's forehead with one of his hands, making her draw back in trepidation.  
  
"No! It's...quite alright! I'm sorry, Milord! I'm having trouble concentrating...let me just try to explain what happened..." she croaked. Chrom stayed quietly and nodded, allowing her to speak. "Well…" This was only truly a diversion from her gauche behavior, but without having her testimony properly rehearsed, she began to panic. "I feel like everyone…can contribute to this group in one way or another. Dancing singing are the only genuine talents I possess, and…even that I cannot do without error," she lamented. "I-I…get so shy…I just want to do my job right! B-but I'm…fearful to practice around others, and the evening was just so lovely! I left the camp to rehearse…"  
  
"You ventured alone while unarmed?" Chrom asked, cocking a brow.  
  
"I know, it was dangerous…b-but I thought I'd be safe! I'm so sorry sir…I broke one of the cardinal rules, but knowing that I inconvenienced you and made a fool of myself is punishment enough...please, show clemency, Milord…"  
  
Chrom unwound the bandages and surrounded the wound. When he finished wrapping, he pressed Olivia's petite fingers closed. "You act as though I am a drill sergeant, ask anybody here, that couldn't be further from the truth." His face beamed with a dashing smile. "There is no need to push the formalities. I am your friend."  
  
Olivia stared at their hands a moment, smiling bashfully. "You consider me a friend, Milor—Chrom? Even if I've only known you for half a week?"  
  
"Certainly. And as your friend, you inconvenience me not. It is my duty to keep you safe."  
  
She forced a smile and retracted her hand, wriggling her fingers. "Well it…it is so relieving to have this knowledge. In the dancing business, imperfection is heavily condemned and not tolerated. I always sorta…assume the worst."  
  
"How spurious a claim! You need not scrutinize the small details, for nobody else can see them."  
  
"But suppose I make a grave mistake, what then? I'll have to bear the mortification and judgment...it's the only thing our allies will see."  
  
Chrom laughed patronizingly and cast the bucket of water aside. "Maybe a little rehearsal in front of us would help? Out of battle, while the stakes are low."  
  
"Oh…I'm not sure that's a good idea," she insisted. "The reason I left the camp and started this mess was to avoid an attention-drawing rehearsal."  
  
"Might I suggest that you dance in front of me?  
  
"In front of you?" she echoed hesitantly. "Just you?" She was almost as quick to reject that offer as she rejected the first. She conjectured that the moment his royal, blue eyes riveted to her, she'd freeze and her pale skin would turn scarlet. However, turning down the offer wouldn't be what she truly wanted either. In the depths of her heart, Olivia enjoyed being around him. The last thing she intended was to push him away after such a courteous gesture. Begrudgingly, the young woman nodded. "Okay. Let us do that."  
  
The prince rose to his feet, bringing the dancer with him. "Very well."  
  
Olivia awkwardly grinned, Chrom mimicked her. The two exchanged that awkward eye contact for at least a half a dozen seconds before they realized that their hands were once again interlocked. "W-well! I should go!" said Olivia. Her panicking eyes darted away from Chrom's face and furtively looked to his hands, his chest, his hair, before finally settling on looking at their feet. Where could she look that was remotely natural? "Tomorrow, I'll d-dance for you tomorrow. Goodnight, Sir Chrom!" She stumbled out of the tent quickly thereafter.  
  
"Goodnight, Olivia," the prince whispered, his eyes following the wavelike motion of her hips, though awkward, was nonetheless charming.  
  
He labeled the night as a victory, even despite the near-miss with fate. It was toilsome to hold a conversation with somebody so skittish as her, the Shrinking Violet of the group, like prying open a tightly sealed oyster to reveal a seraphic pearl within. He was blessed to have found Olivia a place to be. He heard her story, where an infatuated audience member devised a diabolical plan to kidnap her. Had they not crossed paths with her in Plegia, only the gods know of the atrocities she would have faced. It's no wonder why she is reluctant to dance in front of others.  
  
Though he would never divulge such a secret, he found Olivia's shyness to be the most endearing quality she had. He also considered the irony of her outfit. He never questioned it, of course, but he wondered why someone so reserved would wear that outrageous outfit so shamelessly. By no means was he complaining—Olivia filled her chiffon top generously and had a very attractive form. It wasn't his intention to ever stare at a woman, but when she danced, it was like a sakura tree, bursting to life spring but withering away shortly. If Chrom didn't seize the moment to admire the beautiful flowers, he perhaps never would. Because she was hard-to-get, he watched each dance like it was her last.  
  
As Chrom reached for a pen and his journal, he realized how fitting that metaphor was. He was seconds away from losing Shepherds' Shrinking Violet for eternity. Realizing how much he'd miss her dancing made his face burn crimson. It was taboo, but he still found himself entertaining the idea that he was having a crush on a fellow comrade. He laughed at himself while he wrote of the night on paper, finding it nearly impossible to compose a draft that wasn't so mushy and romantic.  
  
After minutes ticked by, the prince gave up and tossed his book and pen aside. He reclined into his pillow, the blush still lingering, and blissfully drifted out of consciousness.


	2. Waltz With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads up!** This chapter will contain the following:
> 
> -Plot spoilers (takes place post-chapter 11)
> 
> If you do not feel comfortable reading such material, I recommend not reading this work!

It's no simple task to force oneself awake in the morning. Shepherds were no exception, but thanks to the infallible culinary team of Sumia, Lon'qu, and Frederick, even the biggest of oversleepers were beguiled out of their sleep by the scent of breakfast. Others were happy to contribute as they could but after a long day of battle yesterday and a suffocating loss of the Exalt, the majority wished to stay in bed a moment longer.

Olivia's drowsy eyes fluttered open. She was wrapped in a cocoon of linens from her sleep. Despite her late night, she felt incredibly well rested, weightless. She sat up and sighed. The sun was rapidly rising in the east, but it wasn't close to noontime yet. She could guess that it was around 8:30. As she slowly unwound the sheets around her, she was quickly aware that she was clad in her outfit from the night before. Had she fallen asleep in it? As she attempted to recollect what happened after she returned to her own tent, she found herself unable to. She must've fallen asleep so fast that she didn't have time to undress or wash up. The dancer groaned again. After breakfast, she would have to wash her outfit rigorously to rid it of perspiration and dirt.

For the time being, she hastily slipped a cropped white camisole with a lace trim, paired with a matching white skirt. It was far less intricate than the majority of her outfits but she didn't feel like dolling herself up completely just to dine with her fellow Shepherds. She worried that she may be underdressed; either way, it wasn't the lewdest outfit out of them all. The enigmatic sorceress, Tharja, shamelessly strutted out on the battlefield looking like she crawled out of Validar's brothel. Olivia quickly unbraided her hair and secured it behind her in a long ponytail. The degree of waviness varied based on section, from sleek and straight to haphazard and crimped.

She poked her face through her sleeping quarters and there stood Miriel, properly dressed and well groomed as usual. Olivia emerged and the studious mage scribbled feverishly in her notebook. Upon facing the dancer, she pushed her glasses closer to her face. "Salutations, Olivia," she greeted flatly.

"Good morning, Miriel. Were you...waiting for me? For any reason?"

"As a matter of fact, I was. I'm presently analyzing the influence of solar energy on somnial and psychological patterns. The outcomes of my trial have been admissible thus far. The earliest of risers attest to my hypothesis that those in direct proximity to the sun's radiance wake the earliest. Premature risers exhibit a decaying response of hostility and lack of patience over time. Naturally, there are other factors that infiltrate the experiment, but I can confidently conclude that a lack of sleep contributes to an inflation of petulance."

Olivia cocked her head to the side. Half of the words went through one ear and out the other. Cluelessly, she smiled back at her. "Great! I um…am glad I can help?"

"Greatly appreciated. As insensitive as this coming comment may be connoted, the recent falling of the Exalt induces behaviors worthy of research. My apologies, but I must bid you a farewell to further expand my thesis. Until breakfast, Olivia." Miriel subtly flickered a smile in the corner of her lips, the only human emotion she demonstrated all morning.

"See you soon." She paced quickly away from the aspiring scientist. How could somebody be so passionate about something and lack a fire in their eyes and spirit on their face? Miriel's hardly responsive tendencies were one of the biggest mysteries of the group, just after the cryptic tactician, Robin.  _Maybe not_ ** _that_** _big of a mystery,_ Olivia said, a smile appearing. Originating from an occupation filled with prima donnas and divas, she never saw someone so sober and emotionless. No matter how stable or unstable, everyone had a passion, an impetus for which they live, work, and sacrifice for. Sometimes more than just one. This was Olivia's life philosophy; there was no exception. Miriel perhaps expressed passion in more discreet methods. They had known each other for all of three days; her mysterious ways will be easier to understand with time.

Olivia approached the center of their camp where she spotted two of the chefs, Sumia and Lon'qu. Lon'qu spotted her first from his work of chopping up various vegetables. He evaded her eye contact as he usually did.

Sumia was stirring a large pot over and open fire—undoubtably the work of Frederick—wiping her forehead. Savory scented steam billowed from in, a heavenly scent. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Olivia and waved. "Oh hey! Beautiful morning, huh?"

"A good morning indeed." Sumia was the very first person that Olivia befriended the day she became a Shepherd. Her amicable and bubbly personality made her easy to approach. They were quickly able to establish a great friendship. Both of them wished they could make a difference beyond what they can already do and make a difference, a common trait that brought them even closer. "What are you cooking? It smells fantastic."

"Well, I really wanted to bake a nice coffee cake to go with the teas I bought in town yesterday, but it's difficult to bake without a proper oven in a camp. And since everyone still seems a little under the weather from...well, you know, I thought I'd surprise everyone with some homemade chicken soup." Sumia put her hands on her lower back and straightened it out, groaning in relief. "Everyone has been working so hard and they deserve a nice hearty meal."

"Chicken soup? How did you manage to get all of the ingredients?"

"Ah, for that you can thank Lon'qu." The quiet swordsman looked up from his task a moment before scoffing and going back to work. "We, or more he, went hunting for a couple wild chickens. From there, it was just a little old-fashioned work in the kitchen. I have plenty of spices saved up. Here!" Sumia lowered a spoon into the soup and blew on it a moment. "Why don't you taste it?

Olivia eagerly shuffled over to her. She pressed the spoon to her lips and sampled the soup.  _Bless her!_ she thought. She had never tasted a soup so wonderful in her life! The savory quality of the chicken broth had enriched with the simultaneous bitterness and sweetness of herbs was unparalleled. "Sumia, that's amazing...I've had so many chicken soups, but that one is far better than any other. What's your secret?"

"Basil." She wiped off her spoon and proceeded to stir the pot once more. "That's all the basil. Some people might call me crazy, but I use basil in almost everything. It's my favorite." Sumia took a nearby salt shaker and sprinkled some of it into her concoction.

From his tent, Chrom sauntered into the sunlight. Still lethargic from the night before, he shielded his eyes. The sun may have caressed his skin but it scalded his irises. While his eyes were adjusting, he watched the two girls conversing in front of the fire. They gravitated toward Olivia, whose simple yet flattering outfit and infectious giggle enchanted any man nearby. (Even Lon'qu snuck in a glance on occasion.) He brazenly just admired her soft-looking form for at least half a dozen seconds. The bandages wrapped around her right hand made his heart sink. He feared that the experience traumatized her more than physically, but to his relief, she didn't look traumatized at all; she was just as friendly and charmingly bashful as the day before.

Although the girls weren't paying him much attention at first, he wasn't as inconspicuous as he thought he was. Olivia wouldn't have been so bashful if the prince wasn't admiring her again. She subconsciously held her breath and hoped her body wouldn't reveal how flustered she became. He probably wasn't aware that he was staring...

"Captain!" Sumia shouted, finally diverting his attention. "Good morning, Captain!"

"Oh! Good morning, Sumia," he beamed as he gathered his bearings.

"Lon'qu and I are whipping together a chicken soup! You and all of the Shepherds have been working so incredibly hard, so I thought I'd pitch in, too!"

"How thoughtful of you! This looks delicious..."

"Well, why don't you try it!" She hurried eagerly across the camp to find a bowl for him. She dunked a ladle into the simmering liquid and poured the contents into the small bowl. It was small enough for her to fit snugly in her two hands. With a hyperbolic smile filling her face, she bestowed her creation on him like it was the Holy Grail. "I know you'll love it..."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Sumia..."

"Oh come on, Captain! Just try it for _me_..."

"It's not that—"

"I worked really hard, so please, give it a taste..."

"Sumia," interjected Olivia. "I um...don't mean to speak on Chrom's behalf, but um, he can't eat the soup without a spoon."

The color drained from Sumia's face when she realized her mistake. "Right! F-forgive me, Captain, that was foolish of me! I'll get you one!" She spun on her heel and took off towards the cutlery where Lon'qu was chopping away at the carrots. He was so immersed in his chopping that he didn't hear the young woman creeping up behind him; as she reached over his shoulder for the spoon, he was overcome with his sudden panic and swatted her away. "Away, woman!" he erupted. Sumia gasped and leapt up like a frightened kitten. Unfortunately, the soup followed her, the steaming broth pouring out of the bowl and onto her breastplate and shirt. The initial heat of the liquid made her squeal, but the remainder of her reactions came out of indignance and mortification.

"Ah! What have you...I mean, what have I...oh no..!" She glanced over to Chrom, hoping he hadn't noticed, but his hand was pressed against his mouth in a futile attempt to stop chuckling. "Forgive me, Captain!" She bolted away from the campfire, her face as red as the sliced peppers in the soup. "Come on, Sumia! Pull it together for once in your life," the pegasus knight mumbled sorrowfully as she ducked into her tent.

"Aw...the poor girl, she's always trying to put forth every ounce of effort. She believes we never notice it, but I do." Chrom bent down to pick up the glittering spoon she had dropped. He turned to face Olivia, quickly finding it difficult to keep his eyes from dropping beneath her collarbone. "Where are my manners, I haven't even said hello to you! It's not that I didn't notice you, because I did...but Sumia is quite the loquacious one. But anyway..." he started, feeling a little color rise to his cheeks. "What have you been up to?"

Olivia froze for a moment with the sudden realization that the two were alone. Even though Lon'qu was a few meters away, she felt like it was just the two of them. She could no longer rely on Sumia to keep the conversation alive. "I'm very well—I mean..! Not much, Milord, I've only been awake a few moments before you joined me...or us, rather. U-um...are you well, Captain? I would be beside myself to know that I disturbed your sleep..."

"Peace, Olivia. Last night was no burden, I assure you."

"Alright, if you say so."

 _He's...staring again._ Whenever her eyes wandered elsewhere for a fleeting moment, Chrom's would fall on her, visibly mesmerized. (Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but Olivia couldn't help her anxiousness.) If she hadn't worn such an outfit that flattered her features so simply, it would spare her this embarrassment. Yet subconsciously, she was growing wont to garnish herself with a flattering outfit whenever she was in her captain's presence. While the staring was beyond embarrassing...what if she  _liked_ that embarrassment, that supplementary attention?  _How unprofessional.._ _._

"How is your hand?" Chrom inquired.

"It's...stinging a bit less."

"I would suggest you don't fight today, lest you put more strain on the wound."

"Yes, of course, Captain."

And as certain as the night falls each day, the pair fell silent. Olivia looked up at him, hoping he'd continue the conversation. Chrom was staring back though, doing just the same, to Olivia's disappointment. "Well...I should go, you're probably um...very, very busy..!" She curtsied slightly and began her trek back to the safety of her tent.

Chrom's panicked. He endeavored to think of something, anything to say to her before she disappeared again. There had to be a way to eradicate the awkwardness that he resented so much. She didn't deserve to be so bashful around her Shepherds—her new family. He wanted to find her comfort... "Olivia," he called out as the idea blossomed in his mind. "Dance for me."

She halted. The remark sounded suggestive, almost vulgar. "Pardon?" she squeaked with her back still facing him.

"Forgive me for sounding so rash. If you recall our conversation from last night, we agreed that I would be your audience. I know it's early in the morning, but I'm afraid that we may not find a chance if we don't act now."

Olivia bowed her head diffidently. What was once a suggestion was now a request. What kind of dancer would she be if she refused to entertain her audience? What kind of performer would she be if she ran away from her stage fright? What kind of friend would she be if she rejected his courtesy? "I guess I could...put together a simple routine before breakfast..."

"Excellent!" he cried, perhaps a bit too excitedly. _Shame on me!_ His intentions weren't to seek entertainment; they were to help a fellow Shepherd with her insecurities. Would it make him a bad guy to do both? If Olivia discovered that he was staring, yes, it probably did. She would think he's only doing her a favor to please his sex drive.  _But that isn't it at all!_ he assured himself, his own thoughts starting to anger him. He always despised the man who manipulated a girl to think that he loved her just so she'd hop into bed with him.

There was more to every woman than her body; Olivia needed someone to tell her that. A person adept in performing arts were disciplined from the start to look good but not  _be_ good. Olivia was the exemplary example of someone who did both

Chrom looked ahead at her, walking back to her tent on the other side of camp. She peered back to him and motioned him to come closer with a timid grin. Her hips rocked from side to side when she walked, like there was a persistent tempo that her body moved with.  _Gods,_ he thought,  _and initially assumed it was just a thought...now I'm practically infatuated..._

"Just...go to the clearing on the right," Olivia called out to him. "I'll be there in a moment, okay?"

Chrom waved back to her and nodded. "I'll be waiting," he said and she disappeared behind the covers of her tent.

The night before, Olivia had ventured into the forest in the west, but to the east was another opening. There extended a beautiful green field filled with long, green grass. It was far more spacious and open than where Olivia had been practicing the night before. (The tradeoff was the camp in direct sight of its inhabitants.) The sun gradually ascended, nearly halfway to the very top of the sky. Its golden backdrop made the clouds look like fuchsia tufts of cotton.

Alone, Chrom took in the scene, the serenity and happiness it instilled within him. He did not know what the day would bring, but he could always expect a timeless sunrise. Daisies sporadically sprouted up in the field, their petals as pure as freshly fallen snow.

 _Daisies._ _Emmeryn loved daisies,_ Chrom could recall. He knew she would adore a moment like this, spending a morning with Lissa and himself. Lissa would run off, picking up flowers as she went and handing them to her beloved sister by the fistful. She would laugh and thank her and try to intertwine the stems into a bouquet that would stand upright. When they returned to Ylisse, she'd pot them and place them somewhere in the castle, should she find the free time. Even as childish as it was, she cherished everyday beauty, especially the childlike qualities of her sister. She and Chrom would converse, share each other's happiness and their pain all the same. She was vulnerable to him, him only. How she retained her emotions and her strength was one of the biggest mysteries of all.

Quite a family, the three of them. Who needed parents to be a family? While they lived, they were inseparable, inextricable, with only about a decade of the guidance of their parents. Not only was Emmeryn an irreplaceable Exalt, but she was the best big sister imaginable.

Chrom knelt down in the long grass and swept up a daisy. He didn't have her body, but he had her memory. With it, she could never really die... He would make monuments for her, dozens, no, hundreds, so that every future Ylissean knew her name and the peace she tried to bestow upon the world.

"Captain!"

The dancer hustled over, her hair swaying behind her like a horse's tail. "Forgive me...I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"Peace. I'm in no rush." Chrom hoisted himself up and turned around to confront her. He forced his lips into a smile for her. _This is what_ _Emm would have done..._

"Are you alright?"

"I am just fine, Olivia, no need for worry," he said, a lie straight to her face. His body was so naturally averse to bottling up his emotions; _it must be so obvious,_ the captain thought, feeling his cheeks turn pink.

"Chrom, you're...you were crying?"

"I was _what?"_ he asked defensively. He touched his fingertips to his cheeks, feeling a glaze upon them from his alleged tears. "Well...I suppose I was..."

"I don't mean to pry...but if it's consolation that you seek, I can offer it..."

"That's too kind of you...I'm just...grieving is all. It's not every day that someone our age loses a sibling."

"Yes, I can understand how...how much pain you must be in. And now you have the responsibility of leading an army, also grieving..." For once, Olivia wasn't the one being embarrassed and emotional. For once, she was offering comfort. It was an empowering feeling, like a handsome paycheck. She took a couple of steps closer, just a half a foot or so away from him. "I know your story, how the three of you lost your parents a dozen years ago or so. I, too, share the scar of losing parents while I was young. And I could imagine that losing the family you have left must be such a defeat."

He avoided her eyes, knowing they were compassionate and charitable, but too busy grieving to meet them. "It's not fun, huh?" he jeered facetiously. "Ahh...she was just too good for this world...men witnessed her soul's unparalleled beauty, and they all thought of ways they could bend them to their advantage." He studied its stem bent in the center and leaflets hanging on barely like broken twigs. "Men like Gangrel want to take advantage of someone pure like her. And when he did, she didn't have very much longer to go." He could already see the color in the leaves fading to brown.

"But why her?" he fulminated. "She committed no sin! She wanted to unite the world with peace and love, she adored every one of her subjects. She took their pain as her own and healed them. She is the last person who deserves to die at the hands of some foul Plegian!" As he shouted, his eyes felt like they were about to protrude out of his sockets, with more warm tears spilling out. "Gods, have mercy on her! Ylisse needs her! My life was nothing compared to her benevolence!"

"Captain, don't speak like that," Olivia lulled in return. "Your sister, with her influence and reputation, has the power to change history with her gesture. She gave her life for the halidom. It's not fair to compare yourself to her, for you do just as much for your people as well. You are their protection, their backbone. We can't allow this loss to bring you down, too." With her stomach fluttering, the shy dancer reached her unwounded hand on Chrom's shoulder. "This is quite a mess to inherit, I know, but you have the same strength that she does. She was a huge part of you and of your family. Let her legacy give you the strength to persevere. For your people and, just as importantly, your family."

Chrom was still, astounded. In truth, he was not expecting the bashful, stuttering girl to have such motivating words. He already felt his spirits lifting. "I just...never got to say goodbye...I told her I would keep her safe, and never said goodbye. She said, 'Let us embrace again in Ylisstol,' and I failed her..."

"But you didn't fail! Not from what I heard! She made a judgment call herself to spare you. You can't keep blaming yourself for something you're not responsible for, Captain."

"You're right...you're right," muttered Chrom begrudgingly.

"There. Now, if you remember, I owe you a dance." She smiled brightly up at him. "Khan Basilio always appreciated a good routine whenever he was down...I think you will too. Look." From tucked underneath her arm, she presented a small music box. The ornate piece looked considerably dated, small enough to fit in the palm of Olivia's hands. The exterior was made of a dark stained wood, decorated elaborately by threads of silvery metal in the shape of flowers. "My grandmother gave me this before my first big performance back in Ferox. She was my family for a while, and I've been dancing to the song that it plays ever since. There's a little figurine of a ballerina inside." She placed it in Chrom's hand and pranced away exuberantly. She was glad that she managed to help the captain out, even if she wasn't able to make everything better.

When she was a considerable difference away from him, she glanced over. He saw him cracking a smile; her insides felt like they were melting away again.  _Funny, how a single smile made the confidence disappear...is he looking at my face? Or my body?_ "Chrom, um...open it whenever you're ready! Before I change my mind!" she said, punctuating with a little giggle. Her heart was pounding on her chest like rolls of thunder.

The box creaked open. The porcelain ballerina was stand  _en arabesque_ in the middle of a blossoming lotus flower. The music commenced and ballerina spun in the box. Olivia knew the tempo like the back of her hand. Just like the night before, it was a waltz.  _One, two, three; one, two, three..._ The melody was fitting, a quaint, soothing melody of a gentle ballad, made youthful from the box's chimes.

Chrom was enthralled at first sight. Since the first chiming note of the song, he fell under Olivia's spell. Her hips moved so fluidly like the grass bending in the gentle morning breeze. The music, her body, and the field became one. Though he couldn't see her feet, he could see how effortlessly she spun on the tips of her toes. Little could compare to a ballerina, for such a lady often embodied femininity and grace. Her body alone was captivating enough, but combined with the dance, he found each of his senses being stimulated to the maximum. For once, he was at liberty to observe every curve and slender limb to his liking.

The dancer made tried her best to remain eye contact, even as she twirled on her toes. Keeping her focus on Chrom's face helped her keep from getting dizzy. Even as bashful as she was, his unrelenting, hypnotized stare kept her moving flawlessly. Why did it all feel so right? Men had done this to her before, only to bring her routine to a clumsy end. Like the man who wanted to kidnap her. His eyes felt like knives, puncturing her skin and twisting around as she spun, but Chrom's eyes felt like a tickle. They felt like small wisps of dandelion kissing her skin. She liked this rush she received whenever his eyes praised her with their immersed, spellbound gazes.

No crowd or stage even came close to the ecstasy she felt when she danced in that field. No exaggeration.

When the song slowly decrescendo into its end, the two lost themselves. The rest of the world crumbled away and left the two alone. Olivia grinned and felt her face grow flushed; Chrom mimicked her and gave a hearty, wholesome laugh.

"Basilio wasn't joking when he said you were a prodigy, Olivia. I...don't think I've ever been so...enchanted in my life. You were brilliant."

"Oh...C-Chrom, you don't need to say that..."

"I mean it, mark my words! Gods, you made all that worry and doubt just...drift away so softly into the breeze."

"I feel the same way! When I dance that is..."

"For what reason do you have to nervous? You are outstanding, truly..." he extolled.

"Oh, Chrom..." Olivia bit her bottom lip and coiled her untidy hair around on her little fingers. "Thank you...thank you for the compliments, and thank you for...convincing me to do this. If there is truth to your words, which I'm confident there is...then it's truly an honor!" She used what little skirt she had to curtsy.

Shutting the box, Chrom waltzed his way over to return it to her, bowing just as low to reciprocate the respect. "Please, the honor is all mine, milady."

Beyond flattered, Olivia struggled to process his action. She expected nothing short of a gentleman in Chrom, yet was astonished when he demonstrated such chivalry to her. She was likely not the first woman to be held hostage by the prince's natural charisma. How bittersweet a hostage taker his charm was; how powerful a weapon his irises were...

Since youth, the hypothetical, the aspirational, the idealisms always intrigued her.  _Just imagine that!_ she thought,  _An affair with a prince! What if? How thrilling, how scary!_ He was looking down at her the same was a child gazed in awe at a jar of sweets. At least, so she thought. He had been looking at her like that during her entire routine. If he was taken, as was she, the affair could take shape, like a spell, half cast, and dancing across a mage's fingertips. The pieces were all here, why not put them together and let the latent emotions spill forth?

"Please," Olivia mumbled, "you're staring, Milord."

His eyes darted away like a startled goldfish fleeing from a tap on its bowl. "Forgive me, Olivia. 'Tis not every day that I have something worth staring at," came a mischievous voice from the prince's lips. This is what he needed. A mourning young man was in need of distraction and relief, the consolation she generously offered. Since when was Chrom one to encumber his emotion for the sake of logic? Her pouting lip and rouge cheeks ensnared him and the thought of wrapping her petite figure in his arms goaded him.

But when did he resort to amorous impulses to resolve his misfortunes? He never fancied himself a suitor. Men who coped by putting their hands on women had always repulsed him, likely because of his sister's unwillingness to marry or court with anybody.

_Shut up and kiss the girl before she runs off._

He wrapped an arm around her waist suddenly. Olivia winced, whimpering while she stumbled forward into Chrom's chest. He tilted her head up and stared again, boring heart-shaped holes into Olivia's soul. "Captain..." she whispered as their lips met. The two of them relaxed their shoulders and exhaled heavily through their noses. She felt like perfection in his arms; she kissed him delicately, not lifelessly, but not lustfully; her messy hair gave her a childish charm; her bashful disposition made him pull her closer. Naga, he was so slender but so soft and irresistible.

_Affair!_

The spell was now complete. The melody she danced too now played back incessantly in her mind as they enjoyed the kiss. The title of the song was "Waltz With Me," which is what she felt like doing. His grip—both the one on his waist and the one on her chin—were steady, subduing her. She was weak on her knees like a newborn deer wobbling on its legs for the first time, but he supported her. He was a calming asset in every way; his strong arms, his coaxing chuckle, his startlingly smooth lips, even his scent made her swoon. His scent wasn't fragrant of any sort, but it somehow kept her attracted to him even more.

Chrom withdrew slightly and slowly opened his eyes to get a glimpse at the maiden he was embracing. She was bashful and amicable as always, but a flicker of pure joy set in her eyes.

"C-captain...I...I don't know...what I mean is...thank you," she stammered. "I've never truly...kissed another, let alone...you...y'know what I'm saying...right?"

"Is this the reason that you run from me? You've been falling in love the whole time?"

"Now that you've said it...anything else just seems...foolish..." Olivia smiled awkwardly to him. She stood on the tips of her toes and pecked him on the cheek. "And you?"

Chrom puffed out a breath and closed his eyes tight. "I've never been one to...easily fall for another, but when it came to you I just...always felt a motivation to single you out. I'm not...great with this romantics thing..."

"I understand you." From where they stood, apart from the camp, Olivia could see the Shepherds congregating into the center of the camp. "I believe we should return for breakfast," she remarked,

"Right you are. I was eagerly awaiting to taste the soup."

Olivia frowned. "Promise me...you won't tell anyone of this...dare I say, affair...I don't need the extra attention..."

"Don't worry..." coaxed the prince. "My lips are sealed."

Olivia leaned against the prince's shoulder; for once in her life, she wasn't playing it safe. Only the gods knew what the future had in store. Her first love, her first romance was right in front of her.

With the best of luck, it would be her last, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reads! I hope you enjoyed this work. It's a little fluffier than I usually write, but I'm trying to expand my writing repertoire over the summer.
> 
> For anyone interested, the song that inspired the dance, "Waltz With Me," can be found on Spotify. "Waltz With Me," by Rachel Knott.


End file.
